


All the Richer

by Virodeil



Series: Permutations - Harry Potter, Meet the Marvellous Marvels of the Marvel-Verse [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28662003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virodeil/pseuds/Virodeil
Summary: The Triwizard Tournament was resurrected in Harry Potter’s fourth year of schooling at Hogwarts. Abandoned by both friends and teachers, he sought another way, another ally to succour him through this ordeal.Luna Lovegood offered to open the door for him, and he took the invitation.On the other side of the door, he met another highly unpopular black-haired, green-eyed young man who was bowed to the breaking point under the burden of an unwanted throne and an ugly personal revelation.Is this a match made in heaven? Or in hell?
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Laufey (Marvel) & Harry Potter, Laufey (Marvel) & Loki (Marvel), Loki (Marvel) & Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood & Harry Potter
Series: Permutations - Harry Potter, Meet the Marvellous Marvels of the Marvel-Verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/832458
Comments: 34
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know, the other fic in the series is not finished yet. This was half-way finished when I decided to post it, though, so I thought it safe to post. No worries, _Little and Broken_ will not be abandoned.
> 
> As for this fic, events in Harry Potter 4 apply up to Harry finding out the “Potter Stinks” badges. Events in Thor 1 apply up to Loki seated on Asgard’s throne, with some adjustments on the earth-side due to differing timelines. The timeline follows the Harry Potter books, so it is 1994 in the story, not 2011.
> 
> Please also beware of the sensitive topics that may crop up here, not only because of the strained relationships between various people at that. As lots of readers abhor spoilers, however, I cannot list them up here. Just please tread carefully, and enjoy the story anyway.

1st November 1994

For a November night in the highlands of Scotland, the weather was positively balmy.

Wrapped in his dark school winter gear, Harry James Potter, orphan Muggle-raised wizard, aged fourteen, sat perched on a bit of rock jutting out of the water beyond the tidal line of the Black Lake. His dark, all-covering clothes camouflaged him well in the dark late autumn night; or else, nobody was aware that he had not gone to bed as he ought to have done hours ago, thus nobody had searched for him anywhere. The latter was as likely as – or even likelier than – the former, given what had been happening since last night’s disaster.

Nobody had believed him that he had not even thought to put his name into the Goblet of Fire, beyond the idle – _and soon discarded_ – imagination of what he could have done with a thousand Galleons in his hands. Not even _Ron_ – his supposed _best friend_ – had believed him, in all of Hogwarts.

Well, maybe he was exaggerating a little, seeing that there must be people who were indifferent to his plight, got on the anti-Harry group just to appease the crowd, or were naturally quiet like a mouse; Neville, case in point, and maybe a few Hufflepuff and Ravenclaws, and possibly Hermione as well. But tonight Harry was not in the mood to be rational, and he was not in the mood to be in his dormroom either, . He was well taken care of, anyway, even out here in the dark and in the chill, given how the ever-helpful house-elves had packed him a bag full of food and water and Butterbeer, each in its own temperature-keeping container. And the cold gloom itself had never bothered him, growing up confined in a dark, draughty cupboard as he had, not to mention the favourite wintertime punishment the Dursleys had liked to heap on him being nights spent out in the backyard regardless of how bad the weather had been.

He did not know, precisely, why he was out here alone, beyond those rather clinical facts. He just felt… peaceful, out here, among the nature empty of human presence.

It was rather ironic. He felt hemmed in among people inside the castle, otherwise.


	2. Chapter 2

2nd November 1994

05:00 AM

So early in the morning, the library was deserted. Not even the most avid Ravenclaw was there… or maybe, they had their own in-house library for early-morning reading. In any case, Harry, bleary-eyed but determined, got nearly full run of the expansive space, and made use of it best that he could. Madame Pince couldn’t fault him, could she, if he came in when the curfew had been lifted for third years and up, and he didn’t disturb her precious manuscripts unduly, and he took care to return his reads back to their former places perfectly?

Hermione had talked about reading books about the Triwizard Tournament in the library. Harry didn’t want to bother her unduly, either, so he was going to search for those books for himself and at least skim through them, to find out for himself what he was expected to do. He had no hope of finding any loophole out of this mess, after even Dumbledore had declared he must participate, but at least he could prepare, couldn’t he?

07:30 AM

There were mountains of various foods everywhere, burdening down the House tables. Their mingled aromas filled the Great Hall, beating back the chill of an oncoming winter from the drowsy breakfast atmosphere.

Harry, hunkering down at the very end of the Gryffindor table, nibbled on a piece of toast by sheer force of will while looking down blankly at his otherwise empty plate. The slice of buttered grilled bread felt like ashes in his mouth, but he knew he did need his energy today, given how he was going to face Potions and Transfiguration this morning and double Charms in the afternoon. Participants of the Triwizard Tournament were exempt from the final exams, yes, but Snape would _never_ let him return to that git’s class next year if he dared to skip Potions, and McGonagall likewise.

A large part of him wished he hadn’t been curious enough to seek to know more about the bloody – more often than not _literally_ so, now he knew – tournament, but a small part of him – a very beaten-down part, crushed under a lifetime of conditioning from the Dursleys and his best friends but apparently not dead yet – was glad that he wasn’t really walking into this blind.

He knew what he was expected to do, now.

He was expected to _die_.

After all, many of the participants in the past tournaments had died performing the tasks or in relation to those tasks, and most of the dead had been _of age_ , with a goodly amount of knowledge under their respective belts. Harry himself was just a fourth year at Hogwarts, still three years underaged according to the Wizarding law, and had been coasting through his Wizarding life and education on the tail of Hermione’s and Ron’s extremes.

He _refused_ to die. But what could have he done otherwise? He couldn’t even go into the restricted section of the library to find out some obscure something that might be able to save him! Wearing his Invisibility Cloak would have solved half of the problem, sure, because he wouldn’t have needed any permission slip from any authority figure to get into that section; but then came the other, more important half of it, namely _which manuscript should he read_? He hadn’t forgotten that useless screeching tome he’d randomly picked up in his one and only foray into that section in his first year.

And then Hermione, huffing with exercion but bright-eyed for the day, plopped herself on the bench beside him. In her usual a-mile-a-minute voice, she began to talk about her plans for the day, and what he must do in the meantime. “…The tournament’s first task is usually about facing dangerous beasts, Harry. You should read up on magical creatures in advance, so you’ll know what to expect. But let’s not skive off classes, all right? I’ll help you when classes are done. Maybe we can ask Hagrid about magical beasts? We can even ask Professor Flidwick for tips on getting yourself a fit body, to dodge them….”

If the buttered toast had felt like ashes then, it felt like scorching, noisome poison now.

Harry, sans bookbag, fled the Gryffindor table to the nearest boys’ loo, to vomit his meager breakfast back up.

He didn’t return to the Great Hall, either. No, he _couldn’t_. – Dangerous beasts; he was going to face _dangerous beasts_ in the first task, armed _only_ with his wand and his wit and his meager knowledge. He had to research it. He wasn’t going to end up being _eaten_ by an acromantula or some such, if he could help it.

` _Oh, Merlin. **Acromantula**._`

07:45 AM

“Oomph!”

One loud collision later, one fourth year and one third year, both tiny for their age, fell sprawling together in a heap on the unforgiving – and unforgivingly cold – stone floor just beyond the great doors of the library, groaning in pain.

Used to harsh treatments from Dudley, and sometimes even from Uncle Vernon and/or Aunt Petunia, Harry recovered first. Scrambling to his feet, he reached out a hand to help the slip of a Ravenclaw girl that he had crashed into back up to her feet, rambling apologies all the while.

Pale blue-grey eyes, protruding slightly from the pale-skinned face they were set on, regarded him solemnly for a long moment when they were both back up on their feet, but without rancour or even irritation.

Harry knew this girl was a year below him, and sometimes he’d seen her passingly interact with Ginny; but, most importantly, he had never seen her heckling him alongside the majority of the Ravenclaw House. Unfortunately, rude and stupid of him, he hadn’t even bothered to know her name. If he could have a friendly name on his side, other than Hermione, among the students’ body….

“Hello, Harry Potter. Nice to bump into you. Literally so, apparently.”

The addressee gaped for a long, long moment, stumped and embarrassed by her unusual remark, then blurted out his interrupted thought: “I don’t know your name.”

She courtsied daintily, with a pretty smile that lit up her delicate features. “Luna Lovegood of Ottery Saint Catchpole, Harry Potter,” she sing-songed. “I saw the feferfines all round you, so I didn’t blame you at all for bumping into me. Thank you for apologising, though. Few would apologise to me. It feels nice.”

Harry found what was unusual about her remarks, now: She was _too_ honest – so honest that it made the listeners feel awefully awkward about responding to it, he’d imagine.

And then there’s the unknown word she’d used…. “What’s ‘feffer’?”

So she rambled on, and on, and on, and on, and on….

Harry only realised what the kind, sneaky girl had done when he was seated at a secluded library desk without knowing he’d aimed to go there, with her hand in the process of detangling from his.

Kind, sneaky, clever girl. But well, she was a Ravenclaw, wasn’t she.

He gave her a half-hearted reproachful look, but refrained from chastising her for distracting him from his worries and upcoming Potions class. He felt more relaxed than before he had bumped into her, after all, as odd as that sounded, and it would’ve been a poor thanks for such a help if he’d decided to scold her for it.

But then, claiming that she wished to aid him in the upcoming tasks in the Triwizard Tournament, she slid a book about _Norse myths_ across the desk to him.

Luna Lovegood was… odd, _to say the least_!

10:20 PM

Harry used the fifteen-minute break in-between classes to idly peruse the book of Norse myths that Luna urged him so convincingly to borrow from the library. Secluded in a dusty nook in one of the smaller towers, he flipped the pages back and forth, only half concentrating on what he was seeing.

Themes – _disturbing_ themes – began to appear among the tales, despite his idle reading, the longer he read. They hounded and haunted him as he went to Transfiguration, next.

03:20 PM

**Dear Luna,  
Thank you very much for the book you made me borrow. It’s interesting. Are you quite familiar with it? If yes, I’d like to discuss some things about it with you.  
Warmest regards,  
Harry**

Harry sent the letter, written hastily on a scrap of parchment in the owlery, with Hedwig during the next break time between classes. He hoped Luna would be amenable to the discussion, because the themes of the Nordic tales were disturbing more often than not, yes, but they also sparked some thoughts and questions that thoroughly fired up the sadly long-rusty gears in his mind. He longed to have a discussion partner, like what he had had with a kind, cheerful young librarian in his primary school.

05:30 PM

For once, Harry got more than what he had bargained for, _in a pleasant way_.

Luna “Harry-napped” him after his last class and dragged him quite cheerfully to the Black Lake.

To the spot where he’d spent yesterday night on, in fact.

And a picnic basket immediately popped up once they’d seated themselves on the protruding rock there.

“A discussion isn’t complete without snacks,” the girl proclaimed chirpily when he sent her a questioning look.

He grinned. “Touché.” He could really like _this_ approach to studying. Sadly the girl was neither his yearmate nor his housemate. Meeting her regularly like this would be hard.

But right now, he had the time, the place, the chance and the things to share and discuss with her, so he wasn’t going to wallow in what would come after.


	3. Chapter 3

3rd November 1994

The “ **Potter Stincts** ” badges that Malfoy must have come up with were pretty childish. They were also awefully hurtful, considering what Harry must face in the tournament.

Would they flash those badges if – or _when_ – he died?

He didn’t linger in the Great Hall, faced with those badges.

He didn’t linger in the halls between lessons, either. Luna had to practically tackle him before dinner in order to talk to him.

As he was walking with Hermione at that time, he had to introduce the two girls to each other before proceeding to drag Luna away, ignoring Hermione’s huffing. They had something important to discuss and only a little time to discuss it in, after all, and he wasn’t about to waste that time trying to mollify an increasingly bossy, nosy and fretful Hermione.

“I found the ritual,” Luna gasped as the two of them ran along the halls and up the stairs towards the seventh floor, where she claimed there’s a highly magical and multifunction room that they could use for an indoor meeting room – “laire,” she’d called it! – and also, possibly, a ritual room. Because they’d discussed the tales at length last night, and she’d come up with an idea to ask for help from one of the individuals listed in those tales, and he’d agreed by dint of desperate hope.

The first task in the tournament would be on the fourteenth, after all, and he didn’t know what _and how_ he _alone_ could learn spells good enough to befuddle a magical beast, let alone maim or kill it, within only _ten days_ left by now till the D-day.

Luna had eliminated the gods and goddesses of war from the list of possible helpers, because those individuals would only smite the beast and be done with it, while she hoped that Harry wouldn’t have to kill the poor thing he’d be faced with unless awefully necessary. Harry himself had eliminated the gods and goddesses of peace because… well, it’d be so ridiculous and most likely useless, to combat a deadly magical beast with a hug or a smile! So they’d settled on one individual who stood in-between both extremes in the Norse myths, who stood for chaos _and_ the protection of children as well as the hearth of a home.

Loki Laufeyjarson; god of fire, lies, trickery and magic, protector of hearth and children.

And now, apparently, Luna had found a way to ask the god for help.

So, “Where? How?” Harry wheezed. – For a deceptively tiny girl, Luna surely ran _fast_! But his excitement bulldozed over the discomfort, and the desperate hope propelled him ever onwards to their destination.

“Later, later,” the dratted tease sing-songed, just as they arrived at the stretch of empty hallway on the seventh floor. Then she walked back and forth three times in front of the tapestry of a wizard trying to teach trolls ballet, and….

“Whoa!” Harry grinned, as, across the tapestry, on the previously smooth and empty wall, a heavy-looking, strong-looking, rune-decorated stone door suddenly popped into existence. “I love magic!”

Luna laughed. “You might love Loki, then,” she said, while towing the awe-struck boy across the hall to the new door.

“If he’d appear to us, that is,” Harry reminded her. “We don’t know if the ritual is good, sorry to say that, Luna, and in any case he’s not beholden to us, isn’t he?”

She shrugged. “D’you want to do the honours?” She waved at the door.

And, with thumping heart, he took the offer by turning the bronze knob and pushing the door inward.

The interior of the room, it turned out, was a little disappointing. It was dominated by stone, stone, stone and more stone. He didn’t even find runes on the walls, unlike the door which had just thumped shut behind Luna.

“Excess magic can ruin a ritual or enchantment, Harry,” Luna explained when he wondered aloud about the lack of runes inside the room. “Excess items can interfere, too, especially in a ritual. _Everything_ has meaning in a ritual, Mummy taught me. Sometimes, the one doing the ritual has to be fully naked, even.”

“But we don’t need to do that, right?” He stared wide-eyed at her.

She grinned at him, her eyes twinkling. It looked like she was about to tease him. But she remembered their limited time, perhaps, for she instead grew serious and motioned him off to the side. “Prepare yourself, Harry,” she said. “I am going to prepare the ritual site, in the meantime.”

“Huh?” The fourteen-year-old stared at her. “You didn’t tell me. Now what should I prepare? Isn’t it too late to prepare only now?”

The girl, a year younger than he was, shook her head. “State of mind is important too, Harry,” she said. “You wanted help from a single deity, so focus on that and keep your mind clear. Your magic will follow, and your _shaped_ magic will in turn fuel the ritual.”

“Oh,” he murmured, still flummoxed, but he gamely obeyed her, all the same. He took a seat on the far corner, deliberately turned his back on her and her work, and closed his eyes to boot before trying to _only_ think of himself asking Loki for help in the Triwizard Tournament.

He ended up _also_ thinking of the dangerous magical beasts he might have to fight or pass by, though, and how the school shunned him, and how the Dursleys would be _glad_ if he died.

And, without him realising it, the thoughts – the impressions bled over into the back of his words, as he spoke his plea in the small, simple ritual Luna had set.

He realised it only when the air before him rippled and coalesced into a tall figure garbed in a strange black-green-gold attire, wielding a humongous, ornate golden spear in one hand.

And then the figure said, haughtily, “I am Loki Odinson of Asgard. Speak your case, mortal.”

And all that the panicked boy could think _and_ say was, “Oh, damn.”


	4. Chapter 4

For a purported protector of children, and for someone who had _answered the call_ instead of ignoring it, Loki… _Odinson_?was downright condescending towards Harry, and even more towards Luna, when both explained about the tournament and what the first task might be. Fortunately, Luna seemed to brush it aside easily.

But still, in Harry’s opinion, Luna _should have never needed to do that_!

Before he could defend his new friend, however, Luna herself spoke, musingly, in her usual dreamy tone, “In the legends, you were Loki _Laufeyjarson_. You needn’t lie to us, you know. Your mum would be sad if she knew you lied.”

“What do you know of _King_ Laufey, girl?” Loki scoffed. But, despite the biting, derisive tone, Harry would swear the git looked uneasy, even… scared? Worried?

Luna had noticed the same thing, apparently, for she spoke again, in a more present but also sadder tone, “That she is your mum and she has two other sons. Nice. Sometimes I wish my mum were still alive and I had siblings. It would be even funner to share fun things with them. Daddy is nice, but Daddy is not Mummy, and sometimes it’s so lonely in the Rookery.”

“What do you know of Laufey, Farbauti, Helblindi and Býleistr?” Harry joined in before Loki, who looked clearly perturbed now but seemed to gear up for a scathing comeback anyway, could speak.

The git glared at him.

He glared back, totally unimpressed. McGonagall _and_ Snape could glare better than this, or even _Aunt Petunia_. Because, judging by the glare, Loki looked like a _petulant teenager_ instead of a stately being that his clothes and ornate spear would suggest, let alone a powerful god of magic and chaos, forget a protector of children.

“We picked wrong, Luna,” he informed his friend, without letting up his glare, after a pause. “Shall we try again?”

Well, if Loki had been perturbed and petulant before, the not-god was now _incensed_.

“What would you like to know about the frost giants? That they are barbaric monsters? That they live in a wasteland of ice? That they kill off their runts? That they invaded your pitiful realm long ago in your pitiful recounting? That Asgard had to drive them away back to their laire?”

Harry frowned.

There had been a flash of _pain_ in Loki’s eyes – green, pretty similar to Harry’s own – when he had listed off the frost giants as runt-killers.

“You’re abandoned when you’re small? Because you’re a runt?” the fourteen-year-old mused aloud.

And Loki stopped dead in his explosive rant.

His face, already pale before, was now chalk-white.

` _Got you,_ ` Harry thought, but without mirth.

“I was dropped on the doorstep of my relatives when I was a baby,” he said instead, strangely calm, even more strangely open. “They weren’t nice to me. They still aren’t. Are your new family nice to you? Is it why you know nothing about your parents and siblings?”

He only got a split second of warning – a furious flash in Loki’s eyes – but it was apparently enough to dodge the white beam of light that spewed forth from the tip of the spear.

“Achio spear,” Luna enchanted calmly, as if she were talking about the weather, as her friend dove to the side and didn’t stop moving even after.

Not until the spear was in Luna’s hand, that was.

“YOU–!” Loki seemed utterly flabbergasted with Luna’s audacity.

“Me,” Luna hummed, and Harry admired her calmness.

Facing a petulant teenager was one thing. Facing a _dangerously unhinged_ petulant teenager was another thing entirely.

Well, but as the conversation had been derailed entirely, anyway, and neither of the Hogwarts students knew for how long their summoning would last, _and_ he wasn’t about to let Luna fend for herself, the fourteen-year-old figuratively waded back in, calling from his new spot a yard away, “Want us to try to summon Laufey to verify things? If she’s still alive, that is. I don’t think we can summon the dead, or I’d do that to meet my parents.”

He had to dodge a ball of green fire, for the offer.

And Luna sighed, and chastised _him_ , “Harry, imagine if you found Bellatrix Lestrange is your mum.”

Whatever plus point she got in Loki’s regard by saying that, though, he bet she lost it when she next said, “The summoning is a good idea, though. I would always welcome knowledge and the verification of knowledge.”

But, it turned out, instead of raging further as Harry had expected and braced for, Loki paused, and looked _surprised_ by her reasoning.

Harry snorted, and smiled fondly if ruefully at Luna. “As you wish, Miss Ravenclaw. Would you like to do the honours?”

“With pleasure, Mister Gryffindor,” Luna beamed, then courtsied first at Harry then at Loki. “Would you like to summon for some snacks from the kitchen, in the meantime, Mister Gryffindor?”

Harry grinned, relieved and pleased by the silliness, however sudden it was after Loki’s arrival and subsequent tantrum. The air in the room, which had been charged with magic and prickly tension, was now lighter and muddled with some confusion and interest.

“Dobby?” he called in answer, and hoped that this was the start of a good time all round, and maybe he could also _really_ get a solution about how to face the first task in the tournament _safely_. He _still_ didn’t want to die, after all!


End file.
